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I wanted to take my time with her. I wanted her writhing, begging for more.
But I needed to be inside her too badly, I needed to feel her come around me, feel her body sink into me, cry out my name, then follow her.
I released her, quickly protecting us, then reaching between her thighs, working her clit until her body was rocking against me, until her nails were clawing into my shoulders.
Until, well, she grabbed my cock, rose up, and took me deep inside.
Then I got to sit back, watch as she confidently rode me, driving herself up much the way she had learned all those years ago.
My hand slid between us, helping the process as her movements got faster, more erratic, as her thighs started to shake, as her moans became airy gasps, as her walls tightened around me.
Then spasmed hard as she came, crying out.
"Roan," she whimpered, burying her face into my neck as I started thrusting upward into her, dragging out her orgasm, finding my own.
Her body was weighted, boneless against me after as my arms wrapped tightly around her, held her to me.
"I missed that," she admitted in a quiet voice a while later, long enough that our heartbeats had slowed, the sweat had dried.
"Fuck, me too," I agreed, giving her whole body a squeeze.
Her forehead pressed into my shoulder hard, her eyelashes fluttering closed against my skin.
"I missed you," she admitted, sounding like the words were clawing their way out.
"I missed you too," I told her, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
This was what she needed. Touch, softness, relaxation, a hint of happiness. To open her up. To make her let down her guards. To let her admit what was really going on.
"You thought I was dead."
"Still missed you. Every fucking day. You saw the picture," I reminded her. "Thought about you every single night. And, Mack, it wasn't possible to think about you without missing you."
Her breath sighted out of her, her shoulders losing their tension, like she needed to hear it, needed that reassurance.
"It was forever ago," she reminded me.
"So?"
"So... things have changed."
"What has changed? You're still you. I'm still me."
"We didn't even know each other that well the..."
"Bull fucking shit," I cut her off, the explosion making her shoot backward, looking down at me with raised brows. "I know the name of your childhood stuffed animal and what foods you love, which ones make your nose curl. I know you think unscented laundry detergent makes clothes smell like wet dog and that you have a ridiculous fear that you might die before you read The Count of Monte Cristo. I knew you. And I still know a lot of you. Now there is just new stuff to learn, new stories to tell."
"Some of the stories are ugly," she warned.
"Don't mind ugly. I got a lot of my own."
Her head tipped to the side a bit as her hand drifted upward over my arm, shoulder, settling on the side of my neck, finger tracing over an old scar there.
"Tell me the ugly behind this one," she demanded, something in her voice suggesting she knew what had caused it, but was assuming it had been self-inflicted.
"This was Kurdistan right before I got burned. A couple of guys caught me in a lie, threw a rope around my neck, little by little pushing the chair away from my feet, trying to get information."
"This isn't from just hanging on," she told me, reminding me she had learned a lot over the past fifteen years.
"No. They didn't like my answer."
"Which was no answer at all," she guessed.
"Exactly. So they kicked the chair and left."
"You're lucky the fall didn't snap your neck."
"That's the funny thing about most criminals. They don't know the anatomy very well. The fall has to be direct. I was thrown forward a bit. Tucked my chin, which gave me just enough leeway to avoid a broken neck, grab the rope, haul my ass up, and get free. Decided after that to lose a good fifteen pounds," I told her, smiling a bit at the memory. "My arms were like Jell-O trying to pull that move off."
"I thought there was a little more definition around here," she agreed, running a finger down my stomach.
"Got some more definition yourself," I agreed, tracing my finger down her arm.
"You get bested in a couple fights, you decide to hit the gym a little more."
"You fight dirty," I told her, lips twitching.
"It's the only way to win when you're at a physical disadvantage. What?" she asked, suspicious of the smile pulling at my lips.
"Nothing. Just think sparring with you would be interesting."
To that, her own lips tipped up a bit. "You just like the idea of pinning me down."
"Or being pinned by you. Either works for me."
